


No Right, No Wrong, No Rules

by Six_Piece_Chicken_McNobody



Series: KH F/F One Shots [3]
Category: Kingdom Hearts
Genre: Arendelle (Disney), F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-20
Updated: 2019-06-20
Packaged: 2020-05-15 14:36:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,598
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19297744
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Six_Piece_Chicken_McNobody/pseuds/Six_Piece_Chicken_McNobody
Summary: Just a couple of ice queens, having a one-sided heart to heart.(A quick scene that takes place between Larxene constructing the labyrinth and Elsa constructing the palace.)





	No Right, No Wrong, No Rules

**Author's Note:**

> T-rating is just for Larxene, who is physically incapable of not swearing, even in the presence of royalty.

Larxene has really gone above and beyond this time, if she does say so herself. She stands with her hands on her hips, leaning recklessly close to the mountain ledge to look down at her hideous, wonderful labyrinth. If she strains her ears in the quiet night, she can just make out the childish complaints of, “Ugh, we’ve _been_ this way already!” followed by a frustrated squawk and a softly despairing, “ _Gawrsh_ …”

She probably didn’t need to go as far as she did; those three would get lost in a supermarket. But it’s not often she gets to let loose. Lightning is an element with a high risk of backfiring, and Larxene has the fractal scars on her chest and arms to prove it. Even at her most powerful, she has to mitigate, tone down, rein in. She’s always wondered what she could do with the opportunity to tap into her full potential.

Make an oversized rat maze, apparently. Still, it’s not bad for a first attempt. At any rate, her Nobody lackeys will enjoy flinging themselves around the icicles and stalagmites before they’re finished off like the cannon fodder they were “born” to be. Larxene stands up straight, twists her back and rolls her neck until both of them crack, and then, satisfied, starts to head up the mountain.

She takes four steps before wobbling. Her ankle gives, her knee gives, and down she goes. Her brain sends frantic signals to her arms, but there’s interference from the electric currents still flickering up and down her limbs, lighting up her nerves at random. And so, with a little less dignity than she would have liked, she falls into a conveniently-placed snowbank with a quiet, wet, and comically pathetic _fthump_.

It’s not her most graceful landing, but it’s not so bad. She feels a hiss of steam where her face and neck touch the snow and figures she needed to cool off anyway. For a minute or so, she lies exactly where she landed, the imprint of her body like a fallen snow angel deserving of a chalk outline. She takes a deep, painful breath and manages to flip herself onto her back in a position that’s still undignified, but at least a little more sensible.

It doesn’t take long for the cold to become uncomfortable instead of refreshing. Larxene’s wet hair is giving her a headache, and blood pounds in her ears like a kettle drum, and the slightest breeze feels like it’s sandpapering a layer of skin right off her face. She’s raw and icy and tired, and not remotely in the mood to deal with the soft crunch of footsteps approaching her in the snow.

“Thought you’d be a mile away by now,” Larxene says. “I gave you a head start with those twerps, and you’re not even _using_ it?”

The footsteps stop, and Larxene figures she should at least lift her head. The Queen of Arendelle stands before her, poised and nervous, like a deer getting ready to bolt. Larxene raises one hand in a wave. Elsa glances at it, and then at her.

“Who are you?”

Larxene shrugs. “A forest ranger?”

Elsa gives her a flat look with a raised eyebrow. “You were in town for the coronation. I remember seeing you in the crowd.”

“Ooh, look at you, Eagle Eyes,” Larxene says, laying her head back down.

“Are you following me?”

“Yep.”

The snow crunches beneath Elsa’s feet again—not a step backward or forward, just a shift in weight as she tries to keep her fear hidden. “Why?”

Larxene sighs. “I’m not gonna hurt you or anything, if that’s what you’re worried about. I mean, look at me,” she says, inviting Elsa to do so, raising her arms until they start shaking. “Not much I could do like this anyway. Especially when you’re _literally_ in your element.”

A hint of a smile flits onto Elsa’s face before letting itself be whisked away on the wind, leaving her expression impassive and refined once more. “So,” she begins, “does that mean…you’re here to help me?”

“Hey, you saw what I did back there,” Larxene says, tugging her glove off to fish a shard of ice out before it melts. Elsa stiffens and holds her own bare hand with her gloved one. “It’s not like I decided to knock myself out building the mother of all ice mazes just for the hell of it. I figure that’ll keep those dumbasses from bothering you for…what, two hours? Three? You’re _welcome_ , by the way.”

She’s probably pushing it, she figures, as she struggles with the Sisyphean task of trying to pull damp fabric back onto damp skin. Eventually, she decides to simply take the other glove off. If she can’t be warm, at least she can be symmetrical.

Elsa frowns. “Thank you,” she says, in a tone that suggests she thinks she should have said it sooner. A genuine apology was just about the last thing Larxene expected, and rather than deal with it, she _hmph_ s and says, “Well, it was more for me than for you. Nothing worse than a bunch of guys who can’t take ‘no’ for an answer. Maybe next time I’ll skip the maze and just send them to etiquette classes. Or, y’know. Jail.”

A laugh bubbles out of Elsa, surprising both of them. It’s a smooth, slightly hoarse sound, but it glitters in the darkness like the crystalline shells of ice on the trees. Her first instinct is to stifle it, raising her hand to primly cover her mouth, but it rings out in the quiet night. It’s one of the more pleasant sounds Larxene has heard recently.

She tries to sit up. The currents in her limbs have finally abated, but they’ve left her feeling boneless, and the snowbank isn’t doing her any favors. She tries again and shudders as clumps of snow slip into her collar and down the back of her coat. She’s one second away from spitting out a litany of curses that are probably less than appropriate in the company of a queen, but her frustration quells when she realizes that the snowbank is rearranging itself behind her, rising into a sort of backrest.

Larxene looks over her shoulder at the new formation of snow, then glances at Elsa just in time to see her lowering her bare hand. She looks shaken by her own action, and Larxene doesn’t draw further attention to it by saying thank you. She never does, on principle. The last thing she wants to do is imply that she owes anyone for anything. She does, however, grunt in what could feasibly be considered gratitude as she settles back against the snow.

“I…” Elsa closes her mouth and sucks her lips in while she collects her thoughts, and Larxene waits, more apathetic than patient. “I can’t believe you did that,” Elsa finally says, her voice hushed.

Larxene can’t think of anything she’s done tonight that defies belief. The labyrinth was impressive, to be fair. Larxene didn’t know that she’d be able to pull that one off until she did it. But that doesn’t make it unbelievable.

Still, she’s not one to turn down a compliment. “Yeah, pretty mind-blowing, huh? And I can’t even control ice.”

Elsa laughs mirthlessly. “Neither can I.”

“Oh, for the love of—” Larxene tries to sit up straighter and winces, grabbing her shoulder when pain lights it up. She slumps down again, and Elsa takes a half-step forward.

“Are you all right?”

“Just… _delightful_.” Larxene rubs her shoulder gingerly, and when she notices Elsa’s concern, she rolls her eyes. “Will you _quit_ it? You still don’t even trust me. Don’t think I don’t see that.”

“…no,” Elsa agrees, “I don’t. But you’re hurt.”

“So what? I’m hurt now, I’ll be better later. What _you_ should be focusing on is cutting out the pity parade. ‘Oh, I’m not _perfect_ , I’m missing my _glove_ , I can’t create a thousand ice sculptures just by fluttering my pretty little eyelashes! What _ever_ shall I do?’”

The flat, unamused look is back on Elsa’s face, and Larxene’s tempted to go on mocking her, just to keep it there. But she has a point to make, and a goal to accomplish. “I’ve _never_ worked with ice before tonight, and I wouldn’t say I have a knack for it. It took everything in me just to make that mess. But for you, making something like that—or something even better—should be a breeze.”

Elsa regards her with a blend of both fear and awe, and Larxene basks in it, perfectly at ease under her scrutiny. “Are you…” Elsa swallows, nervous to ask and more nervous to be answered. “Do you…know about the creatures? The ones infesting the mountain?”

“What, the Heartless? Or the Nobodies?”

“Either. Or both, I suppose.”

“ _Oh_ yeah. We go way back,” Larxene says, crossing her fingers to demonstrate her closeness with the monsters. She lowers her hand again and notices that Elsa doesn’t look as alarmed as she expected. “Doesn’t seem to faze you.”

“I assumed you were connected to them. There’s something…different about you.” Elsa holds her gloved hand, twisting the fabric around her fingers. “You’re like me.”

 _It’s called lesbianism_ , Larxene thinks dryly, _and the sooner you figure that out, the better. Can’t unleash your full potential if you’re keeping_ everything _on lockdown_.

“Yeah,” she says instead, keeping it casual, which is easy enough when she’s still sprawled in the snow like she’s sitting in a beanbag chair. “Well, I wouldn’t worry about the monsters too much if I were you. They respect power, and in this place, you’re the most powerful person around.”

Elsa snorts. “Of course,” she says derisively. “How perfect. What better company could I ask for?” She gazes at the mountain while Larxene gazes at her, both of them contemplating quietly. “Queen of Arendelle,” Elsa says, “to Queen of the Heartless, in just one day. Maybe I _should_ stay here after all. I belong among Heartless and Nobodies.”

 _Relentless self-deprecation and crippling doubt_ , Larxene muses. _Great combo. Exactly what you want in a sovereign leader_.

Still, Queen of the Heartless has a nice ring to it. And Elsa’s really buying into the whole “false empowerment in self-imposed exile” thing. Maybe they miscalculated with the Princesses of Heart. When Larxene gets back to headquarters—and after she’s thawed herself out in the merciless desert sun—she might propose booting one of the kids off the team and recruiting Elsa in their place. At the very least, it’d be nice to have another woman in the Organization for once.

“Well, sounds like a plan,” Larxene says. When Elsa looks at her again, she seems disheartened. “What?”

“I just fled from my own coronation, into the woods, in the middle of the night. I wouldn’t say I have a _plan_.”

“Good,” Larxene says. “Great. You don’t need one, and frankly, it’d probably suck anyway. Wing it.”

“And do _what_?” Elsa asks. Larxene takes a deep breath and manages to haul herself up, gripping the “arm” of her “chair.”

“Listen, lady. You have a brain, right? You have arms and legs, and eyes, and a brain. It’s been snowing all night, you have a mountain all to yourself, and you can control _ice_.” She takes a massively uncalculated risk and tosses a fistful of snow at Elsa, a misshapen lump flung with the deadly accuracy of a knife-thrower. Elsa’s hand flies up, and the snowball bursts like a firework halfway between them, raining harmlessly on the ground.

“ _See_?” Larxene says, leaning back on her elbows again. “Don’t think—just _do_. Surprise yourself. You’re untouchable up here.”

Somewhere in a nearby copse of trees, a snow-laden bough gives up its weight, springing back to life in a bristle of dark pine needles. Elsa jumps at the sound, but Larxene reclines again, too tired to be startled. It takes Elsa a moment to notice—her gaze has started to trail up the mountainside, following the stark outline to its peak. She takes a few steps toward it, then pauses and looks at Larxene again, slumped in the snow and breathing shallowly. “Are you sure you’re all right?”

Larxene groans, a little melodramatically. “Stop _worrying_ about me. Stop _thinking_ about me. Stop thinking about _anyone_. This is your time.” She flicks her hand at Elsa as if she’s dismissing her from her presence. “Go do your thing. Make some magic happen. I’ll be, y’know…around.”

Elsa looks toward the mountaintop again, though she doesn’t seem to be hesitating anymore as much as psyching herself up. “…I’m glad you followed me,” she admits. “I’d like at least one other person to bear witness to what I can do. Whatever that is.”

“Yeah, looking forward to it. Don’t wait up, though. I might be here a while.”

“Well, I’ll just have to make something big, then.”

Larxene grins. “Now you’re talking.”

Elsa gives her a smile—it’s small, and refined, but it feels like the smile of a co-conspirator. She clasps her hands demurely before her and nods her head, half in gratitude, and half in a farewell. _Cute_ , Larxene thinks, still mildly delirious. Not knowing the proper response to a partial bow from a queen, and not caring anyway, Larxene gives her a nonchalant little salute. Elsa barely notices, already taking Larxene’s advice to heart and letting her attention drift back up the mountainside. Her first few steps are cautious, but soon she takes off at an ungainly run, stumbling as the hem of her cloak drags in the snow. It’s enough to slow her progress, but not enough to hold her back.

Larxene watches her until she’s out of sight, then lets her head drop to the snowbank again. She thought there would be two possible ways for this to unfold. Elsa would either prove herself to be one of the Seven Lights, and the Organization would keep her on the backburner, or she’d prove herself to be an agent of Darkness, and they’d find another purpose for her.

The unacknowledged third option, Larxene’s realizing, is that Elsa will be whatever the hell she ends up being, and the Organization won’t be able to make use of her one way or another. She’ll live as a sorceress on a mountaintop, stirring up hurricanes or kicking up avalanches for no reason but the sheer joy of imposing her will on the world around her. Whether she’s as pure as pristine, untouched snow, or as dark and deceptive as black ice, there are fairly good odds that the Organization won’t be able to force her under their control, even if they end up needing to.

Maybe it’s the lingering delirium, but Larxene isn’t too bothered by this. It would be far from the first time that the players in the Organization’s game refused to abide by the rules. And while she doesn’t have the energy for a coup this time around, living vicariously through a rebellious Princess is an idea she can get behind.

She stays in her snowbank for a few more minutes, then forces herself up, reminding herself that if willowy little Elsa can run uphill through the snow in a velvet coronation gown, then she can certainly handle standing on her own two feet. Besides, it’s almost daybreak, and although Larxene’s appetites lean toward destruction more than creation, she has to admit that she’s excited to see how Elsa, Queen of Arendelle, Queen of the Heartless, will begin the first day of her new reign.


End file.
